


The Inquisition Players

by AParisianShakespearean



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, Marriage Proposal, Performances, Theatre, Tresspasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 22:03:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15300984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParisianShakespearean/pseuds/AParisianShakespearean
Summary: At his Inquisitor's behest, Cullen attends a performance at the Winter Palace. He doesn't expect to see what he sees.





	The Inquisition Players

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GentleNitrate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GentleNitrate/gifts).



Even before they arrived at the Exalted Council, Cullen considered how he would do it.

It wasn’t as though he didn’t have many opportunities to do so, it was almost all day they spent together in the days leading up to their arrival at the Winter Palace. How easily he could have said it then, or how easily he could have asked during the night, as they lay in each other’s arms. Yet his Inquisitor was such a passionate woman, with a flair for the dramatic. Ingrained within his mind was the idea to appeal to her inherent passion. He thought perhaps, he could appeal to her love of the theatre.

Inquisitor, he say, perhaps taking her to a performance somewhere, and after the show, taking her hand and getting down on one knee. He would ask her to marry him, and ask her if they could start the best performance of our lives. He thought it was charming enough, perhaps even clever. Then he sat, and he really thought of it. Performance. How could it be a performance when loving her was the most natural thing of his life?

He couldn’t ask it that way, he realized, and like the thousand other ways he thought of asking the question, that one also became discarded. It had to be special, idiosyncratic. She was idiosyncratic, a collection of puzzle pieces and threads woven together to create the full and beautiful her. One day, a new thread of her was woven in, and miraculously enough, it was her love for him.He knew that love was true, no matter what. But Maker’s breath, he wanted the honor of being her husband. He had to ask. He had to find a way.

He didn’t want it to happen at the Winter Palace of all places, and during the Exalted Council to boot, but he had done himself the favor of drawing it out till he hardly had any choice left. It had to be then. Yet they hardly ever had a moment alone. In those moments he had without her, he thought he would at least figure out how to ask her, but then there was a dog. He couldn’t just abandon the other Ferelden trapped at the Winter Palace. Cullen had an inkling his new friend would be able to give him some advice, but unfortunately, his advice wasn’t helpful. The way to his heart was a hambone.

As Cullen knelt before his new friend, who he started to call “Dane,” he rubbed his belly, wondering what else his advice would be.

“How?” Cullen muttered to himself. “How…?”

“How what?”

He had been so deep in thought he didn’t hear her approach. Startled, he rose from the grass to meet his lady, taking her hands in his. She smiled. It was like the first time she smiled at him. It was always like that first time.

“How what?” she asked again.

“How…beautiful you are,” Cullen stammered. “I—I…”

“You tell me so often,” she pointed out. “Cullen, darling…”

“But you are!”

She laughed as he continued to insist, mesmerized by her sparkling eyes, her hair in the sun, and her warmth. “And there’s something I wanted to tell you,” he said, feeling it blossom. The love, the everything she was. “I—”

“I have something I want to tell you too.”

His eyes narrowed. “What? I—”

“Follow me!”

Bewildered, the Inquisitor strung Cullen along the Winter Palace, a blush creeping against Cullen’s cheeks that grew brighter with the slight exertion of their jogging. Cullen was concerned about Dane, but that concern disappeared, if only slightly as Evelyn tossed him a bone. He began chewing at it happily, his tail wagging.

“Where are you taking me?” Cullen asked, but the question was answered, when with a grand flourish, Evelyn stopped them, and directed Cullen’s attention forward. First, he saw the Inner Circle. Evelyn appeared to want to have a get together with everyone, and Cullen smiled and waved at Cassandra, Varric, Josephine and everyone else. Even Cole was there in the back, sitting and observing, and Cullen wondered what was going on and why everyone was sitting in chairs looking ahead. He wondered until Evelyn tugged at his jacket. With an elegant gesturing of the hand, she brought Cullen’s gaze to a grand and expansive theatre.

“Evelyn, what—”

“Celene has this installed for performances,” she happily announced. “They put on plays here at this little outdoor theatre. But today, we are going to see something special.”

Cullen raised his brows. “Something…?”

“Varric wrote a play,” she said, conspiratorially. “A very special play. And tonight is the premiere!”

Cullen wasn’t sure he heard correctly, not until the dwarf stood and motioned for Cullen to sit down for the show. As he said, it was going to start in five minutes.

“This is ridiculous,” Cassandra quipped next to Varric, crossing her arms.

“I think it’s exciting,” Josephine said, and next to her, Leliana agreed.

“I managed to secure the best performers around,” Vivienne announced, crossing her legs and leaning back against the seat. “This will be worth seeing. I promise you that.”

“Well at least there’s beer,” Bull said behind Cullen. As the tallest one, he was relegated to the back.

“Not that terrible swill you brought,” Dorian replied next to him.

“Hush,” Leliana said, turning around in her chair. “It’s going to begin.”

Buoyantly, Evelyn clapped, sitting down next to Varric, and grabbing Cullen’s hand and leading him to the seat next to her. Cullen though, had a burning question that begged to be answered.

“What kind of play is this?” he asked, still bewildered.

Varric smirked. “You’ll see.”

The memory buried long ago resurfaced. It was buried for a good reason, Cullen didn’t like recalling the time he lost all his clothes to Josephine. Yet that same night, Cullen recalled how Varric promised the Inquisitor, always an ardent lover of the theatre, that he would write a play for her one day. At the time Cullen seriously didn’t think Varric would deliver. He should have known better.

“The play is about to begin!” Evelyn exclaimed. “I think you’ll like it Cullen. Or at least, I hope you do.”

Cullen couldn’t help but smile as she took his hand, squeezing it. By the Maker was she adorable when she was excited. It must have reminded her of when she was young, with her family in Ostwick. She often regaled the story—the story of how when she was around eleven, a troupe of performers mounting a production of _The Murder of Queen_ _Madrigal_ arrived in Ostwick. Cullen still didn’t know how it happened, but to make a long story short, one thing led to the other, and Evelyn, who was taking a tour backstage, ended up setting one of the rabbits used in the production loose. Right in the middle of the most intense scene in the opera, she ran right on stage to catch the bunny, interrupting the passionate scene of romance unfolding. But there, in the audience, a lone soul clapped for her. Ever since then, the theatre was Evelyn’s escape. Certainly, after everything she had done, she deserved an escape. She deserved to grin from ear to ear, deserved to see a performance especially for her. Cullen, realizing that, decided he would support her. He would always support her.

The curtain opened. Evelyn clapped. There was a collective sound of titters in the audience, Sera’s being the loudest. But amongst all this in the audience, next to the woman he loved, there was Cullen, staring at what he saw on stage with his eyes wide open and jaw to the ground. He held no expectations for the show. And with no expectations, he did not ever in a million years dream of seeing a man on stage, with blonde hair like his, wearing his clothes.

“Varric…” Cullen muttered, voice barely a whisper. “Is that man…wearing my clothes?”

“It’s a reproduction,” Vivienne said. “I daresay he wears it almost as good as you.”

“The Commander of the Inquisition,” the man announced, coming to the front of the stage. The laughter in the audience grew tenfold. Even Evelyn was tittering at the man and his poor attempt at a Ferelden accent. Cullen didn’t know what was more insulting, the Orlesian playing him, or the accent.

“The Commander loves with a love so bright and true,” the actor continued, blinking and lovelorn.

At that, the real Commander couldn’t take it anymore, and indignantly he rose from his seat, pointing at the one responsible. “Varric!” Cullen bellowed. “That man can’t be me…I am not Orlesian!”

“Cullen, hush!”

Evelyn grabbed Cullen’s hand and pushed him back down, allowing the actor to continue. Cullen was certain the whole thing was a dream, and any moment he would wake up. This man, this actor…it certainly was not him. He was no man that would moan and spout off long soliloquies or monologues.

“Evelyn—”

“Hush!” she bade again, hitting him on the arm. “It’s theatre, an imitation of life, not the replica. He looks and sounds like you well enough.”

Maybe the actor looked like Cullen in theory, but Cullen’s hair was more golden than wheat, and as the actor turned, he could see that someone had done a poor job mimicking his scar. There was also the matter of the accent. He would never get over the accent.

Somewhere backstage, a harp began to play, gentle against “Cullen’s” words.

“I am the commander,” he spoke again, looking towards the sky. “I love with a love. I fell and how wonderful it is to break to the water’s surface, and breathe.”

Over the harp was Sera’s poorly stifled laughter, coupled with a few of Dorian and Bull’s murmured quips. To Cullen’s side, Josephine, Vivienne and Cassandra were doing their best to remain calm and collected, though each one held a smug grin. Evelyn—she was still so happy, so merry. And he was still so bewildered.

Was this a play…really about the two of them?

Cullen looked back at Varric, glaring “Is this what I think it is?”

“It’s what you want it to be Curly.”

He stared. “You wrote a dramatic depiction of our relationship?”

“Hey,” Varric said, having the nerve to shrug. “You two certainly provided me with inspiration. Maybe if you didn’t want that you could have, you know, found a more private spot to kiss.”

Before anyone could agree, Evelyn shushed them all, allowing “Cullen” to wax on. The real commander repressed the urge to stick his fist in his hand.

“A time of war, a time of change. I found her. I love, I love. But woe is I, who loves, yet doesn’t know.”

“This was a long time ago,” Cullen said through gritted teeth. “I got over it.”

“Cullen,” Evelyn sneered, “watch please.”

He rolled his eyes as on stage, “Cullen” continued, speaking of love and loss, and the Inquisitor. “For in she,” he waxed, “I place my love and my want, for in she, I find strength.”

“The strength is inside you, my love.” Evelyn began giggling as the actress entered. There was a collective sound of awwwww from the Inner Circle as the actress playing “Evelyn” rushed to “Cullen,” grasping his hands. On stage, they kissed melodramatically. It was so unlike their real kisses, full of passion and tenderness. Then again, Cullen wouldn’t expect anyone to replicate their kisses.

“The strength, my love, is inside you,” the actress muttered.

“My Inquisitor—”

“My dear one,” she announced, running her hands through his hair. It made the real Cullen smile. For it was what the real Evelyn always did. “My darling.”

She was pretty, yes, with similar enough features to his love, though Cullen of course found his Evelyn more beautiful. “Light of my life,” she continued, “my sun, and my home.”

“Varric,” Cullen said. “This is nice, but these pet names—”

“I have to agree with him,” Cassandra quipped. “Even Swords and Shields isn’t this hammy.”

“I think they are cute,” Evelyn said proudly. “Can we please be quiet?”

Attentions were turned back to the stage. “Cullen” and “Evelyn” looked longingly into each other’s eyes. “So long it has been, since our love first blossomed,” the actor said. “As each day goes by, I love you more and more. Words I have not spoken to you yet, though they are true as I stand.”

“You need not speak them,” she replied. “For love, I see it in everything you do.”

“I want to make our love true.”

“It is already true. From the moment I told you we were eternal. From the moment you laid me on top of your desk. Sturdy and strong, as you are.”

Cullen wanted to jump into a lake of fire. Laughter, laughter that wasn’t even stifled was everywhere around him, Sera, Dorian, Bull, and most surprisingly, Blackwall, loudest of all.

“I knew it!” Sera exclaimed. “Thom! Ten silvers, you owe! Of course they did it on the desk!”

The laughter was boisterous. Cullen, shaking his head, realized he was going to have to take it.

Evelyn squeezed his hand. “I’m surprised you didn’t blush at that one,” she admitted.

He shrugged. “Wouldn’t everybody expect us to do at least once there?”

She giggled as their counterparts on stage continued to look longingly at each other, and whisper sweet words together.

“You are my greatest adventure,” the one playing Evelyn announced, “the reason everything was worth fighting for. I am bound to you already, by everything we have been through and shared.”

“As I am bound to you.”

“Our bond of togetherness remains eternal. We need no more. But if you want my hand, if you shall take my hand…”

“Evelyn.”

All too abrupt, the actors stopped as Cullen stood. He looked at his friends, the Inner Circle, and he looked at Evelyn. In her eyes, there was a pondering question, a thought.

The play. The reason for it—

He knew it was not Varric who wrote the play.

Wordlessly and with the eyes of the actors and his friends upon him, Cullen took Evelyn’s hand and brought her atop the stage. Perhaps he didn’t need to bring her to the stage, but he did none the less, because his love always had a flair for the dramatic. The play was proof of that. He saw Cassandra, Vivienne, Leliana and Josephine lean in, as Bull and Dorian grasped each other’s hands, while Sera held onto Blackwall. Cole, who had not uttered a word the whole time, smiled.

“He understands,” Cole said. “He’s going to ask.”

Evelyn’s eyes widened as Cullen got down on one knee. He got down on one knee, and he took her hand.

“Evelyn,” he whispered, knowing finally the best time to ask was when they made it the best time. “My sun, my home. I wanted to ask you for so long. But there was never the right moment before.”

“Cullen.”

“I know why you wrote the play,” he said. “You wanted me to ask.”

She squeezed his hand. She knelt before him. “Love,” she said. “I wrote this play not because I wanted you to ask you to marry me. Well—If you want, then I want too. But I wrote this and pretended like it was Varric and then got Vivienne to hire some actors because I wanted to tell you that the journey we had together and the love we already know—that is our bond. We don’t need vows to make it true.”

“I will stay whatever comes,” Cullen promised. “I will. But Evelyn, I had wanted to tell ask you. I was waiting for the right moment, but then there was a dog, and…agh.” He squeezed her hand back. “My love, always with a love of theatre. Will you marry me?”

“Cullen.” She smiled with the happiness of a thousand suns. “I will.”

“She will.”

It was Cassandra that said that. And as the Inner Circle rose and clapped along with “Cullen” and “Evelyn,” Cullen kissed Evelyn. His love, his home. He kissed her everything.

“Now,” she whispered. “Let’s get married now.”

“There is one thing I must ask,” Cullen said. “Why did you turn this into a play? And why did you pretend Varric wrote it? Why didn’t you just ask me?”

She giggled. “Oh. You know me, I’ll never not turn something into theatre,” she said. “Besides I wanted to try my hand at writing. And I really do think there could be a play about us.”

“There just might be one in the works.”

Cullen glared at Varric. Again. He glared at the Inner Circle, who all were so wonderfully amused. But Cullen had to admit, that the play would be a very good one.

However, he knew that there was a much better play beginning. The play of Evelyn, Cullen, and their dog. The play of their life together as husband and wife.

The best part was there was no acting involved.


End file.
